


Enough was not Enough

by charlesworthy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Canon Rewrite, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 03:50:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3595236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlesworthy/pseuds/charlesworthy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What can you take from a man who lost so much?<br/>Hawke answers Varric's request to come to Skyhold, but couldn't convince Fenris to stay behind.  If it had ended there, it would be easy, but to complicate things the Red Lyrium gets a little closer than any one would have liked it to be, and Hawke's Grey Warden contact is as stubborn as he ever was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unexpected Baggage

**Author's Note:**

> This is like the first chaptered fic with a plot that I've attempted since like 2009, so I hope I will be good to it.
> 
> Major Character Death won't occur until later, but I wanted the warning to be made before any one started this thinking it would be all daisies and sunshine.
> 
> Basically, it's going to follow the story of Here Lies The Abyss, but with a few more twists. Fenris' arrival is only the first, and I'll be twisting the canon a lot more in the future. Hope you enjoy.  
> I'm going to add tags for things and characters as they occur, so expect the cast to expand as we go.

The footsteps were barefoot, but the force behind them, the driving anger, was more than enough to make each stomp audible. Those of Skyhold, unimportant enough to be forgettable, watched the elf cross the bridge to the fortress. A string of fast, angry Tevene was accompanied with any errant glare he sent out to any number of the people he passed.

Clearly, this was not a man they wanted to bother with. Though his odd appearance marked him as some one that had been called in, he seemed far too volatile for any political advantage the Inquisition might have otherwise been trying to squeeze from him.

His feet hit the grass right inside the main gate to the hold and his countenance straightened, bright green eyes scanning the immediate area for... whatever he was so mad at.

“Hawke!” he called, suddenly. His voice, booming, seemed too big for him, even when compared to the greatsword strapped to his back. “Where _are_ you?! Garrett!”

There was a fire obvious in his voice, and all of a sudden any on-lookers turned their heads and went back to work.

Somehow, the elf made his voice louder. It was just as well. He wanted to make sure  _all_ of Skyhold could hear him. “Hawke!”

As far as Fenris was concerned, he had every right to be angry. In fact, if he knew himself at all, he was probably not even as angry as he  _should have been_ .

The letter, which had been crumpled up in a fist and shoved in his pack, just so Fenris could wave it in front of Hawke, read:

_Fenris--_

_You're going to kill me, and I think I've come to terms with that. Yes, I know we talked_

_about this, and I remember what your answer was, but I have to do this_ _ alone _ _. You're too  _

_important to me for me to lose and I know how many arrows you'd take for me. I'm sorry I had_

_to do it this way. This is probably the worst morning ever, but this is how it has to be._

_I promise I'm coming back, and then you can kick my ass all you want. Until then, be safe, don't get in too much trouble._

_I love you. I'm so glad we stuck together. It really hurts to leave you like this, after_

_everything else. But it's for your own good._

_An impossibly stupid amount of love,_

_Garrett_

Fenris wasn't even sure he had had a worst morning than waking up to Garrett's nearly-illegible scrawl without the man himself. He had thought hard about that—trying to remember all the times Hadrianna had denied him a morning meal for the third day in a row, and carefully comparing that to waking up alone with nothing but a bloody apology.

If nothing, it had done an excellent job of teaching Fenris just how much it hurt when some one shoved their fist into your heart.

They had  _ talked. _ Hawke had received Varric's letters, and Fenris had read them when Hawke wasn't looking. The dwarf made it seem like the Inquisition was doomed without a Champion's assistance, and Hawke had told Fenris that he needed to go; that the things the Inquisition was stopping would change the whole world; that Corypheus was  _ his _ fault, and therefore  _ he  _ had to set things right, one way or another.

That was fine. Fenris had agreed. Releasing an ancient magister upon all the world was probably the dumbest thing Garrett had ever done, even including all the times he took drunken dares at the Hanged Man. The only point of contention came about when Hawke had insisted Fenris  _ couldn't  _ go.

Arguments happened, and even though they had made up, Fenris couldn't remember ever being that angry at Hawke. Despite being a mage, Garrett had never done anything or been any one that would absolutely, truly enrage Fenris. He could be obnoxious at times, or frustrating, but he had never made Fenris' blood boil so much until the point when he tried convincing Fenris that he didn't want him to get hurt, and that he was leaving alone to protect Fenris.

Fenris had argued he didn't need protecting. He could remember the times he had been the one protecting Hawke, and before they had even met he had never had a problem with dying. Fenris had made the most logical argument, but Hawke refused to yield. The way it progressed from there was childish at best.

Growling, Fenris crossed the lower level of Skyhold, and climbed the stairs leading upward. He hadn't a clue where he was going or where he should even begin to look for Hawke, but Skyhold wasn't big enough to hide in forever, and Fenris wasn't leaving until the Inquisitor himself picked him up and threw him out. Not without Hawke.

“Hawke!” he called again. His voice seemed to carry throughout the entire hold. That was good—it would be easier for Hawke to hear him, and on the off chance he hadn't, some one else would have to ask why there was an elf shouting for him. Fenris scanned this new section of the fortress—stairs leading to the main building, a small field for training, a blacksmithy, a tavern.

Varric would be here too, he realized. Even if Hawke was hiding from Fenris, it might be easier to find the dwarf first. He couldn't imagine them being too far from each other, anyway. It had been years since Fenris or Hawke had seen any of their 'friends' (Fenris would use the term loosely whenever it included an abomination and a mage consorting with demons) from Kirkwall. Hawke and Varric were too close to _not_ be trying to catch up.

Looking for Varric seemed like a logical next-step. Fenris smirked slightly. If nothing changed, perhaps he would find Varric in that tavern. Even if he wasn't there, it was as good a place to search as any. In his experience, taverns were always talking about Hawke.

Now that he had some semblance of a plan, the anger radiating off of him was no longer perceivable. His footsteps were still heavy as he barged into the Herald's Rest, and no sooner than he had entered was he calling out the dwarf's name alongside with Hawke's.

* * *

 

His voice had traveled throughout most of Skyhold, saving for maybe the inside of the actual hold, and the courtyard. From the battlements, Hawke winced.

“I told you,” he said, sighing.

“I believed you,” Varric replied, holding up his hands. He purposely kept the chuckle out of his voice. They had nearly made bets on it, but there was no fun gambling when you were on the same side.

Garrett ran his hand down his face, exasperated. He knew from the start that things would end up this way, but he lived by the motto 'might as well' and if nothing he could say he had made an effort. How he was going to keep Fenris out of the inevitable mess that was going to unfold was now his new problem. And there was definitely going to be a mess. He had learned early in life that carrying the name “Hawke” was reason enough for trouble to hound a man.

He folded his arms, and looked down at the dwarf expectantly. “Should I talk to him before or after I've been introduced?”

Varric gave an innocent enough shrug that Hawke knew was anything but. “If you don't do it now, he might barge in during the conversation. The Inquisitor's a nice enough guy, but you know how intimidating Broody can be.”

Hawke chuckled. “You said he stared down Corypheus and an archdemon, alone. Fenris isn't _that_ bad, is he?”

“Not before you see him rip out some one's heart, no.”

“Ha! Now that you mention it, I never got that before period.” Hawke smiled. “I'd still take Fenris any day over Corypheus.”

Varric nodded sagely, and a familiar silence fell over the two. It was reminiscent of the times they'd talk over a drink or two. At one point, the conversation would fade and they'd just sit in a comfortable silence, with only drunkards and the sound of sloshing ale filling it.

“Want to grab a pint, later?” Hawke asked. At the very least it might make this whole ordeal a little easier.

“I'm gonna need it,” was Varric's answer. He raised one arm, scratching at the back of his head. “Maker knows the Seeker's going to tear me a new one.”

Hawke didn't miss a beat—his silver tongue seldom did. “Right. This was supposed to be a _secret_ meeting with the most prolific man in Ferelden.”

“She was going to find out eventually,” Varric admitted. “But I can guarantee you she'll be at least twice as mad with _that_ kind of entrance. Broody wasn't supposed to be involved either. This is going to go _real_ well.”

Hawke frowned, shifting his weight to the other leg as he leaned up against the wall of the battlements. He crossed one foot over the other.

“Look on the bright side,” he started, smile quick to return. “She probably doesn't even know how to stick her hand into some one's chest.”

Varric laughed. “You only say that because you haven't met the woman. The looks she gives could make a man rip it out himself and hand it to her on a plate!”

“In that case, why not just put her in a pit with Corypheus and see who comes out victorious?” Hawke joked.

This was the whole reason he laughed so much. Corypheus was his mistake, his problem, and it was his fault the whole ordeal had turned into a disease Thedas-wide. But these small moments, when he could toss a joke out and get a laugh, especially when it was with some one he hadn't seen in so long, made it feel like he could do the impossible. If he could cheer up some one when the world was practically imploding on itself—when the world was imploding _because_ of something Hawke did or didn't do—then maybe it wouldn't be as hard to right everything in the end.

Or maybe it was just easier to face impending doom with a smile.

They exchanged light banter like that. The Inquisitor, Varric had told Hawke when he arrived, had been out investigating something in the Exalted Plains. He was meant to be back today, and Varric had been promised to have the Inquisitor's full attention.

In a lull in their conversation, they could hear feet on stone, approaching their position.

“That must be him,” Varric said.

“Right.” Hawke nodded. “You said he was Dalish, didn't you? How Dalish are we talking, here?”

The dwarf opened his mouth to speak, but stopped short.

“Hawke.”

Varric continued with a sigh. “And there he is,” he said, throwing his arms in Fenris' direction as the elf flew down the stairs.

The mage tried a friendly smile, throwing it in Fenris' direction as the elf stomped up to him, close enough so they could smell each other's breath, and glared daggers into Garrett's hazel eyes.

“Hey, Fenris, strange how--”

“ _Don't,_ Hawke.” He said it with the same kind of edge as the sword on his back, and Hawke closed his mouth. His smile remained, though it was only apologetic. “Why did you... What were you _thinking_?!”

Hawke's features softened, and he raised his arms as if surrendering. “I didn't want you to get hurt,” he said. His voice had that quiet soothing quality that was so rare to hear from him. Even though he still carried an awkward smile, his tone was very genuine. “And you wouldn't listen to me, so I had to at least try another way. I can see it didn't work.”

“No,” Fenris spat. “It did not.”

Some one cleared their throat, and the sound brought all eyes back towards the stairs.

“I'm not interrupting anything, am I?” asked a blond elf dressed in grey.

Inquisitor Lavellan descended the stairs with a certain grace and light of step Hawke had seen in some elves before. He had tan, sun-kissed skin, which contrasted against his vallaslin, making them stand out prominently on his face. For the leader of an organization rallying for the restoration of the Chantry, the Inquisitor did not fit the part at all. No wonder so many people had thought the Herald of Andraste was a sham. No Dalish elf would be caught dead leading such a group.

Fenris stepped away from Hawke. Even if he were no longer glaring, it was clear (at least to Garrett) that he was still furious.

“Inquisitor!” Varric started amiably. “Not at all.” He gave a pointed look to Fenris and Hawke here, before stepping forward. “This is that friend I told you about it. Garrett Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall. And this is...”

He paused, because he wasn't quite sure how to introduce the ex-slave elven lover to the man responsible for the mage rebellion.

Luckily for him, he didn't have to.

“Fenris,” the warrior supplied. To any one who didn't know him, he would have sounded polite. Hawke and Varric knew better.

The Inquisitor nodded, a small smile curving his lips. He folded his hands behind his back and offered them both a slight, formal bow. “ _Anduran atish'an_ ,” he said. “I'm not sure what Varric's told you about me, but I'm Inquisitor Erinuil Lavellan. He said you might have useful information about Corypheus?”

Hawke nodded, refolding his arms. “Well, that was the plan,” he said. “But my initial idea of dropping a mountain on him seems to have been tried and failed already.”

The Inquisitor gave a small chuckle, then blushed and cleared his throat. His arms fell back to his side. “Well, ah, I hope that wasn't all you had,” the Herald said.

“Fortunate for you, there's a little more.” Hawke shifted, moving across the terrace to fold his arms and lean onto the wall overlooking Skyhold. “Corypheus was being held by the Grey Wardens. When we found him, he had been using his connection to the darkspawn to... affect them.”

“Corypheus got into their heads,” Varric added. “Messed with their minds. Turned them against each other.”

Hawke let out some sort of disgruntled noise, but it was quiet and restrained. “If the Wardens are missing, they could have fallen under his control again.”

Lavellan frowned. Even the Dalish had stories of Grey Wardens, and to have such an organization not only willingly following, but completely under his enemy's control... They had hoped to find allies within the Wardens, not another blighted problem.

“Can it be reversed?” he asked.

“It went away after we killed him,” Hawke answered. “But obviously, he wasn't exactly dead. We can only hope...” His voice trailed off and ended with a sigh. “I've got a... _contact_ ,” and the way he pronounced the word showed just how reluctant he seemed to discuss it, “within the Wardens. He was looking into something for me. The last time we spoke, he mentioned corruption in the Warden's ranks.”

“Well, Corypheus would certainly qualify,” Varric interjected. “He didn't disappear with the rest of them, did he?”

“No. He said he'd meet me in an abandoned smuggler's cave near Crestwood.”

The Inquisitor nodded. “Thank you, Hawke, I appreciate the help.”

Hawke smiled, righting himself and shaking his head slightly. He let out an amused snort. “I'm doing this for me as much as you,” he said. “I'm the one that let him loose. It follows I should help clean up the mess.”

A smile tugged at the Inquisitor's lips. “Still,” he said. “ _Ma serannas_. I feel a little bit better knowing the Champion of Kirkwall is helping us. And his friends.” He gave a small, cordial nod to Fenris.

“I don't really use that title any more,” Hawke admitted. “Just Hawke will do fine.”

“Right, of course,” Erinuil said, stumbling slightly on his words. “I'm sorry, Hawke.”

Hawke let out a chuckle, about to tell the Inquisitor that out of all the men standing among them right now, he was probably the last one that needed to apologize for anything, but a shout broke through Skyhold once again, and each of them froze.

“Where is he?!” The demanding voice of Cassandra Pentaghast carried through the fortress.

“That would be for me,” Varric groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The Inquisitor chuckled. “If you like, I'll go with you,” he said. “She wouldn't dream of eviscerating you in front of the Inquisitor.”

Varric shook his head, waving away the notion dismissively. “I have to do this alone. Thanks for giving me another thing to worry about.” He walked past, garnering a sympathetic look from the Inquisitor, before walking off to meet the Seeker. “The sooner it's over with...” was mumbled under his breath.

“I'm a little worried for him,” Lavellan admitted, turning back to Hawke and Fenris. “Cassandra's always seemed to have it out for him since we met.”

“Varric can talk his way out of anything,” Hawke dismissed with a smile. “And what he lacks in words, he makes up for in chest hair.”

That got a laugh out of the Inquisitor, who nearly leapt to life with it, covering his mouth with a hand. He regained composure quickly, and with an embarrassed smile, nodded. “That's... true,” he said. He quickly brushed a lock of hair behind his ear, and glanced towards Fenris.

“Pardon me, Fenris, was it?” he started. Fenris looked at him expectantly, and the Inquisitor averted his gaze for a moment. “I've never seen _vallaslin_ like yours.” It was meant to begin a friendly conversation. There were other elves in Skyhold, but Erinuil was looking for some kind of innate connection, of which there had been little with the others. Unfortunately, Fenris was not in the mood for friendly conversation.

“They are not _vallaslin_ ,” he stated.

“Oh, right. My apologies.”

The Herald shifted uncomfortably. “Perhaps I should leave you two alone.” He offered a shy smile, and that was all Hawke needed to confirm that the Maker had a sense of humor. Not only was a Dalish elf named Andraste's Herald, her will incarnate, but he was also not a man Hawke would have expected to be able to lead any amount of people above two with any lasting sobriety.

“I'll see you in Crestwood, then,” Hawke replied.

Fenris shot him a sharp look, but said nothing.

“Of course. _Dareth shiral_.” And the Inquisitor took his leave, gracefully exiting. Hawke silently hoped he would keep whoever this Seeker was from killing Varric, but as Fenris was quick to remind him, there were a few other things to discuss.

“I want answers,” the elf demanded, closing the distance between them with few stomps. At some point during the conversation with the Inquisitor, he had pulled out that crinkled piece of paper that Hawke had left Fenris with weeks ago. “You thought you were keeping me safe with _this?_ ”

 


	2. Decisions, and the reluctance to come to conclusions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try to avoid canon dialogues that don't change, so I'm skipping penning the fight Varric has with Cassandra for obvious reasons--you probably are already familiar with it, and it's boring IMO to read things you already know. Instead, a tiny bit of fluff at the end of this chapter.

“Well,” Hawke started, trying to pull some reserve of charm and snark in order to answer Fenris. He was sure if he could find the right words, the right tone or smile, Fenris would give that small chuckle and maybe they could pretend nothing happened. It was obvious at this point that nugs would fly before that would happen, but Hawke was nothing if not an optimist.

“Would you believe me if I said I didn't think it would work?” he continued.

Fenris' mouth curled into a worse scowl than it had already been in. “You thought it _wouldn't_ work,” he repeated, for clarification.

Hawke had tried to keep Fenris from following him by giving him his reasons for wanting the elf to stay behind. When that failed (miserably, he might add—for a man who escaped a life of being unable to talk back, Fenris could string together an excellent argument) he left the note as a last-ditch effort. He doubted it would work, but it _might_ have, and that possibility was enough to make it worth the effort. That was what he thought at the time, at least, but now that Fenris was glaring him down with the note crumpled in his fist, it didn't seem like it had even been worth the paper.

“Honestly, yes,” Garrett replied. “I didn't think it would work, but if it did then that would have been nice.”

Fenris gave him an incredulous look in response, then drew himself back and pinched the bridge of his nose. In the silence that ensued, Hawke tried to gauge how angry Fenris was, and what he would have to do to alleviate it. He got the impression that the elf simmered down slightly from stomping into Skyhold and shouting, but he knew from with experience that it was always hard to tell with Fenris.

“Why,” Fenris finally started, nearly growling, “did you want to keep me away so badly?”

Hawke sighed. “I wanted to keep you safe. Didn't I make that clear?”

“And what of your safety, Hawke?” Fenris retorted. They had already had this argument before. Fenris had nearly made Hawke see his side the first time, and he was likely only repeating it to make sure it was clear.

He threw his arm outwards. “There is a war going on, and those templars would not hesitate to kill you whether or not they knew who you were!”

“I know,” Hawke answered dryly.

“Have you seen what they've become, Hawke?” Fenris accused. “The lyrium that's taken their bodies and minds?”

“The red lyrium. Aren't I responsible for that too?”

“No, Hawke, you know what happened in the Deep Roads.” And so did Fenris. If Hawke was going to blame himself for everything that left Kirkwall, it would be a long list, even omitting anything that wasn't trying to destroy the world. “And that's irrelevant. You came here alone, didn't you?”

Hawke remained silent, because they both already knew the answer, and Hawke even knew what Fenris was going to say next.

“What if you didn't even make it here?!” It was a valid enough question. With the Mage-Templar war covering all of Ferelden, it was something of a miracle if a single man could get from Amaranthine to the Frostbacks without encountering at least one side of it. Hawke had indeed run into trouble on the way to Skyhold, but it had never been with more than three templars involved, and usually some apostates had come to his aid. Only now did it sink in how lucky he had been.

“I could say the same for you,” Hawke replied, a smile tugging at one corner of his lips. It was his defense mechanism. Smile in the face of adversary. Everything was a joke. He didn't like doing it to Fenris.

“So you meant for me to stay in that hovel in Amaranthine, waiting for your return,” Fenris concluded. As this argument followed the frame of others they had already had, Fenris knew the answer was 'yes', and therefore didn't give Hawke the opportunity to reply in the affirmative. “And what if you didn't return?”

The volume of his voice rose as he continued. “What happened when I was waiting weeks, months, and nothing? Did you expect a letter from Varric explaining you weren't coming back would make everything better?”

Hawke glanced away, shifting uncomfortably. He had convinced himself at some point that just not coming back wasn't an option. It wasn't a possibility to him. The plan had been to go to Skyhold; find out why the Grey Wardens had fallen off the face of Thedas; fix that problem; and return home to Fenris. There was no room for variation.

“I was going to come back, I told you,” Hawke said.

“And what if you didn't?” Fenris argued. “Didn't I tell you that--”

Fenris sighed, his arms falling back to his sides. “Didn't I tell you that a world without you wasn't worth living in?”

Hawke chewed on his lip, gently reaching out to touch Fenris' arm. He wasn't sure if Fenris had calmed down enough to accept a hug, but he wanted to at least be a little closer. He could hear the familiar whispers hiding in Fenris' tattoos, a reminder of the magic that marked them both.

“I'm sorry,” Garrett said. He wanted to say 'if I had known' but he had known, and he shouldn't have acted. The last thing he wanted to do was blame Fenris for what was obviously his own fault. Realization passed over him, and he clarified: “You're right, Fenris. I shouldn't have decided that for you.”  
“No. You shouldn't have.” Despite the fact that he hadn't pulled away at Hawke's touch, Fenris' tone was blatantly bitter, and his green eyes were still burning with some anger he was obviously suppressing.

Until the moment Hawke had left Fenris with naught but a letter poorly explaining what he wanted to happen, Hawke had been wonderful. He had been patient, and always asked Fenris what he wanted, what he thought. It took the elf awhile to catch on to why he did that, but it was comforting to know that he wasn't just passing through hands, from one mage to another. Hawke wanted Fenris to know he was his own man, and with one single letter autonomy had seemingly been wrest from Fenris in one fell swoop.

“But it's been done now,” Hawke continued. “And we're both here, and it looks like we're both alive, so... All that's left is to keep it that way.” He smiled this time, and a smirk ghosted Fenris' features.

The elf lifted his gauntleted hand and cupped Hawke's face.

“I missed you,” Hawke said, placing his hand on Fenris', leaning his cheek into his hand.

“It was only a few weeks,” Fenris replied, now genuinely smiling. He didn't say how he was thinking the same thing.

“A dreadful few weeks,” Hawke corrected, closing his eyes. He could hear the faint whisper of Fenris' markings through his armor. The song Fenris had been cursed with—Hawke wondered if he could ever hear it. “It was very, very cold at night.”

Fenris chuckled, quietly. He opened his mouth to reply, but fell short when the look on Hawke's face became one of consternation. “What's wrong?”

Hawke's hand tightened on Fenris', his brow furrowed as he pressed it closer to his face. “This...” he started, without the intent to finish. He pulled Fenris' hand away from his face, and glanced up at Fenris, asking for permission for something. Fenris wasn't sure what he was doing, but gave a slight nod regardless.

The mage carefully started undoing the clasps keeping Fenris' gauntlet on and together, removing it piece by piece until his hand was bare. Hawke held it gently, and examined the lines running from Fenris' fingertips to his wrist.

“Has it been hurting?” Hawke asked, his voice containing a worrying combination of concern and urgency.

“A little more than usual,” Fenris admitted. “But it's nothing I can't handle.”

Hawke could never imagine how Fenris could live with a constant, dull pain lingering in his skin. He gently traced his thumb along one of the lines of the elf's tattoos, and the song inside the lyrium suddenly came to life in his mind. Fenris' pinky twitched as Hawke's thumb moved, but if it hurt the elf said nothing.

“It sounds... different,” Hawke said. Despite being a mage, he had never been one that knew much about the theory being magic. He did, and felt, and made, but the practice was all that mattered to him. Why or where the Fade was, was irrelevant. It didn't matter why moving the Veil in a certain way conjured fire, it just mattered that he knew how. He didn't particularly care why lyrium sang or why it specifically sang to mages, even when his lover's skin sang lullabies as he slept. He never questioned it—they were just facts.

Thusly, he had never mentioned these facts to Fenris. He still wasn't sure if the elf's opinion of mages had changed in the least, and while Hawke had never thought of his magic as a curse, he was sure Fenris' stance hadn't changed. Why should he mention that he could hear and sense the magic that had 'tainted' Fenris' skin?

“It sounds?” Fenris inquired.

“It's a mage thing,” Hawke replied. “We can hear lyrium, for some reason. It's faint in you, but your hand is different now.”

Something deep in Fenris told him to withdraw his hand, or to be disgusted with this new information, but Hawke didn't deserve any of his impulses or hatred.

Hawke turned Fenris's hand, staring at the lines on his palm. The markings glowed, nearly imperceptible in the daylight. Hawke had learned a long time ago it shone with pain, and that Fenris' rage could bring it to surface. The elf didn't seem angry to Garrett, so he worried.

He was especially worried because instead of the light-blue it was supposed to be, two of the lines on Fenris' palm had turned pink.

“Fenris.” Hawke's voice was all of a sudden stern, like a father about to scold his child. “Have you taken off your gauntlet at all? Have you seen this?”

“No. What?”

Fenris withdrew his hand and glanced at his palm. What was he meant to expect other than the tattoos that marred his entire body? Though he said nothing, the raise of his eyebrows made it clear that he was just as surprised to see the change in color as Hawke had been.

“That isn't-- I don't...” He was at a loss for words. Sure, Fenris had never been curious as to the method behind how the markings granted him the ability to phase through objects—agony tended to make some one focus only on the act—but he had been affirmed time and time again that he at least knew how to _use them_ , and that he could predict with reliability that nothing would change. To see them changing color, for what Fenris was sure was no reason, was startling, if not wholly terrifying.

Fenris looked back to Hawke, seeking an answer. The only response he got came in the form of a drawn-out sigh, and fingers running through his already-messy hair.

“I don't know what this is,” Hawke said. He had a few guesses, but he was going to keep them to himself, because he didn't want to give Fenris' hand any ideas on how it could get worse. “Do you... Did you do anything to it? Besides the usual heart-ripping, I mean.”

Fenris shook his head, his eyes falling back to his hand. Staring at it made him feel almost _scared_ , so he quickly looked away and back at Garrett. “No.”

“Okay,” Hawke said. “Maybe... we can figure it out, and it's not that bad. Maybe it was meant to do that, like eventually just change as you got older, I don't know.” He tried a smile, but it was definitely insincere. “Let's just forget about it for now, alright? Or get some one else to look at it, some better mage.”

Fenris bristled at Hawke's words. Just because he had been with a mage for the past five years didn't mean he had any more trust for mages in general. Hawke had been the exception to the rule. He wasn't sure he could trust any other to get as close to him, and he wasn't sure he liked the implication of another mage being 'better' than Hawke. He vaguely remembered Hawke once using the same words to describe Anders, and they all knew how that turned out.

His fingers curled into the lines on his palms, turning his hand into a fist. It stung; it always did, but it especially stung a bit more on the lines turning pink. “It's probably nothing,” Fenris said, offering Hawke a tiny, bitter smile. If there was any one that could testify to the weirdness magic was capable of, it was probably Fenris. He once mentioned a flying cow over Minrathous; it was only up to the imagination what a magister couldn't do. Hawke tried to reassure himself that Fenris' theory was the correct one.

“Hopefully, you're right,” Hawke agreed. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on Fenris' forehead. “Let's not think about what happens if you're not.”

“Agreed,” Fenris replied. They had just left one argument, it would be best not to start another so soon, especially when they were both on the same side. The elf laced his arms around Hawke's waist, gently urging him closer. “I could... think of a few other things that may be a little more important.”

Hawke chuckled. “Tell me more.”


End file.
